


Beginning

by cherrycokeisnice



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:53:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23915623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrycokeisnice/pseuds/cherrycokeisnice
Summary: The Phoenix Witch is older than some think.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Beginning

The beginning. The Witch remembered it well. It had been long ago, before Battery City, before the bombs dropped, before America was colonised. The Witch was created hundreds of years ago, in flashes of purple and pink, at the very centre of what would later become California. Her creator, the deity with the blue and orange feathers, said nothing to her, not out loud. His gestures said it all. Blinking, trying to comprehend everything around her, the Witch spun around, looking at the night sky, the creatures that hurried past. A hand on her shoulder spun the Witch back around to face her creator, and she watched.

The Creator raised his arms, so that they were styled like someone being crucified, and then it was his turn to spin around. The Witch knew, in that moment, what he meant. This was hers. All of it. She was to be the keeper of this land. The Creator stopped spinning, and looked the Witch in the eyes, literally staring deep into her soul. She could feel it, could see it. Her view of his orange and blue feathers suddenly switched to a view deep inside of her. Later on, when the Witch knew the words to describe what she felt, she knew what it felt like. It felt like she had teleported to the inside of her being, inside her physical form and yet not. The night sky had been replaced by a blinding white light. The Witch felt her way around, trying to see, to find her way. Her young consciousness didn’t know how to control her physical limbs, let alone know how to navigate this spiritual plane.

And then, almost as quickly as the Witch had been placed in this world of white, she was removed from it again. The one with the blue and orange was nowhere to be seen, and the Witch found herself all alone in the middle of the land. In the middle of her land. The creatures began to scurry up to her, and the Witch, not knowing why, felt the urge to pet them. It was like a force of good inside of her, a force of love compelling her to treat these creatures well. This was her land. But they weren’t her animals. They were her friends.

Years, lots of them, passed. What should have been the Witch coming into her own, in her prime, tending to her land and her friends, actually consisted of her becoming weaker and weaker. The humans that were settled in her land, they were slaughtered by others, cruler, more selfish humans. The Witch wept for decades at the slaughter of the natives. They had been kind, considerate people, living off the land, not leeching the life from it. She would help them, send them rain when they needed it, make sure the fruit her land yielded was enough to sustain them. The humans, they eat her friends for food...but that, the Witch came to understand, was in their nature. It wasn’t something she supported-she wanted every creature in her land to live in harmony with each other-but it was who they were. Each animal, and each human, received a safe passage from the Witch, to the next plane. They had taken care of her territory, had made it a little better in their time on this plane. The least she could do was take care of them as well.

After the slaughter, though, the Witch promptly peaked. She used her powers, her very being, to punish the colonists. The land and its crops ran dry, rain became rare and weak, disease spread through the valleys. But the humans didn’t learn. Instead of coming together, helping and healing each other, they competed for resources and territory, killing each other in quantities that grew with each passing year. And the Witch grew weaker. No longer did the people of her land respect her, and no longer did they respect her creations.

She was able to go back to the source each year, back to the centre, the spot of her creation, to replenish her strength. Then the bombs dropped. Something took her place at the centre. She couldn’t go into Battery City, not anymore. So she was reduced to being the reaper of the Zones.

Only when hope outweighs hate, can the Witch regain her status.


End file.
